West Side Story: Lima Edition
by kirby1991
Summary: Finn is a "troubled youth". Rachel is sentenced to doing community outreach. She's ordered to stay with he and his family for the summer. No credit cards. Not even a cell phone. All she'll have are her clothes, Finn, and work. [Rated M for possible smut.]
1. Chapter 1

The gavel banged down and Rachel could feel her life ending. Her credit score was plummeting already. God. Her eyes widened in terror as she heard the judge drone on something about "good deeds and a sense of empathy for her fellow man". She interrupted him. "Sir, if I might." The small courtroom seemed a bit stunned. "I don't see how tricking that girl off the stage so I could sing my own performance is _that _big of a crime."

A few chuckles filled the room. The judge gave them all harsh stares before speaking again. "She fell eight feet into a cellar!" He wags his finger at the other injured singer, who was sitting in a cast and wheelchair, her arm in a sling. "Now, Miss Berry." He cleared his throat, looking at her paperwork. "You have a relatively clean criminal history. In fact, this is your first offense. I'm going to take it easy on you." She froze on the hysterics. _Oh, great,_ she thought. _He's letting me go!_ She could already feel her bank card being warmed up from the celebratory swiping that would likely ensue. "You're going to do a community outreach program in West Lima." Her mouth fell agape.

"I'm from _East_ Lima," she said, as if he needed to be informed. She gestured out the window to the quaint little side of Lima; it was far more well-preserved than its Western counterpart. He deflated a little. "You're going to be helping underprivileged youth," he went onto explain. "I even have a foster family set up for you. You're going to live life _without _all of your privileges. That attitude of yours is exactly what landed you here to being with." Before she could protest, he slammed his gavel down for finality. "Dismissed," he grumbled, exiting to his chambers.

She stood for a moment, a bit unsure if she should cry or start pulling her hair out. It was going to be a long summer.

There he stood, bending over the yard with a pick-axe. Whoever said landscaping was easy had clearly never done it in the dead of summer in West Lima, Ohio. There were surprisingly few trees in this area of town. But that's exactly why he was there. The area just needed a little loving. He threw his shoulder back before driving it into the earth again. He swore he could almost here it groan as he separated dirt from grass.

An old, worn-down bus managed its way up the road, stopping in front of the street. It sighed a bit as the doors opened. A few dozen people got off. A lot of people in West Lima weren't quite privileged enough to drive cars. He just chose to walk wherever he went. For whatever reason, this interested him today.

The usual crowd shuffled off, already knowing where they were going. Then, something unusual happened. A pair of expensive-looking penny loafers hit the pavement. The brass on the buckle of them shined, causing him to squint. His gaze traveled up her long legs until it met her face. She was wearing a fur hat, a button-down coat, white gloves, a short, black skirt, knee-high socks, and shoulder-length hair. He rolled his eyes a little. He could pick them from a mile away.

He continued to watch her, his elbow leaned up against his pick-axe. She made the mistake of approaching another passersby. "I'm from East Lima!" she declared proudly. The man looked her up and down, seeing his opportunity. "Rachel Barbra Berry, at your service!" She outstretched her hand before he grabbed her arm, beginning to drag her off.

"What're you…no!" She began to fight back. He stood, contemplative for a moment. She obviously wasn't the brightest crayon in the box. Then again, neither was he. "Hey," he finally piped up. Both assailant and Rachel glared at him. "Let 'er go." He walked over, towering over the two. From shoulder-to-shoulder, he already had the man outdone. He stood somewhere over 6'3", brown shaggy hair and an impressive wingspan. The man only took a moment to make up his mind that it wasn't a fight he wanted to pick. He scampered off, nearly urinating himself.

He outstretched his hand to her. "Finn Hudson," he said, trying to be polite or something. She observed it before cleaning it off with a tissue. He frowned a little and withdrew it, casually sliding it back into his pocket. "I bet you're not from around here, are you?" He was being a bit facetious at this point, though her radar for that sort of thing was lackluster at best. "East Lima," she said, flipping her hair. The smell of her perfume wafted. He felt his nose crinkle a little. "You definitely took the wrong bus." He turned his back to her before grabbing his axe.

Oh, god. This is where it all ended for her. It was a shame, too, because she might have considered hiring him as her personal bodyguard for when she won her first of many Tony's. He swung it over his head and she winced. "Wait!" she yelled, causing him to stop. "What!" he snapped back, alarmed. "Don't yell when I've got this thing in my hand! You'll end up bein' one of those talking puppets they keep in boxes at the museum." She stared at him blankly. "You weren't going to murder me and dispose of my corpse in the Ohio River?" He returned the blank stare, though his had a touch more confusion in it.

He shook his head a little, noting her suitcase. "You might want to get that thing inside," he mumbled. She pursed her lip, looking down at her hot pink suitcase. "And why is that?" He continued to dig at the ground, grunting. A few beads of sweat wiped down his forehead. "I'm your "troubled youth", Rachel." He stood tall again, admiring the puzzled look on her face. "And my mom hates it when you're late for dinner."


	2. Chapter 2

She stepped her way into the small house. It wasn't that nicely decorated, nor all that impressive. It certainly wasn't to her standards of living. Her room was easily the size of two of their living rooms. The couch was aged; it seemed to sigh whenever someone sat down. Her nose wrinkled a bit, and he could feel her judgment, even with his back turned to her.

"It's not paradise," he admitted sheepishly. "But it's all my mom can afford." He shrugged, as he gestured her to sit down wherever she saw fit. She opted to stand. She looked around the small room. It must have been hell sitting in here and trying to eat dinner. She looked to the walls. There weren't very many pictures. Then again, he wasn't exactly screaming Mr. Photogenic.

He returned from the kitchen with two beers. "Thirsty?" he asked as he offered her one. She stared blankly for a moment. Would this end up on America's Most Wanted or something? She could only pray not.

"How old are you?" she asked, her eyes narrowing a bit. He frowned. Whenever he shaved, he was mistaken for a teenager. Or…at least, a younger version of one.

"Eighteen," he said, retreating his hand. Her nose wrinkled. "I'm not old enough to drink and neither are you," she said firmly. He watched her with a somewhat bewildered expression. She marched right into that kitchen and poured his tasty treat down the drain. "Hey, I earned that!" he protested, though he was otherwise powerless.

She flashed him an unapologetic glare as she took her seat again. "So, your duties include doing some medial yard work and then getting drunk?" He frowned. Medial? He was pretty sure that was an insult, or something. "I just wanted to cool off," he mumbled as he took a spot beside her. It was hard to deny how attractive he looked in his muscle shirt and cargo shorts. She began counting the freckles. _One, two, three…_

"What're you staring at?" he asked, cutting her thoughts in half. She panicked for a moment before dodging his question.

"Why are you my troubled youth?" she asked. He didn't seem like too big of a trouble-maker. His expression took a dive. "That's really none of your business," he said as he looked away. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "It is," she countered, primly folding her hands across her lap. He rolled his eyes. "It's not."

He was already proving to be a challenge. They sat for several minutes in a cold silence. The clock ticked over their heads, the oldest parts of the house now talking to them.

Moments later, his mom burst through the door, arms full with groceries. "I brought some food home for our guest," she said, not seeing Rachel over the paper bags. His mom - much unlike him - was a bit more lighthearted and friendly. "I got vegetables. Her profile said she loved vegetables." He rolled his eyes. "Great," he mumbled as he got up to help her. He hardly noticed the fact that she was sitting right there. Rachel frowned and decided to introduce herself.

"Mrs. Hummel?" she asked and carefully stepped forward. "I'm Rachel." She smiled warmly. Carole sat her bags down and shot Finn a glare, as if silently scolding him for being so uninviting. "It's really great to have you!" Carole offered, realizing that this probably looked bad on her behalf; at least, his attitude did. Rachel took another moment to look around their home. Granted, she wasn't overly-impressed with it, but Carole did seem nice. And she even went out of her way to make sure her diet was taken into consideration. That was a good start, right?

—

"Stop picking at your food," Carole said as she side-glanced at Finn. He was none too happy with their dinner. He was more of a meat-and-potatoes-kind-of-guy. This just wasn't cutting it. He rolled his eyes and stabbed another Brussels Sprout, hoping it might turn into a big, juicy steak. He took a bite. Disappointment.

"So, Rachel," said Carole as she took a drink of her milk. "Tell us more about yourself." She adjusted in her seat a bit. It was so nice of the commoners to take interest in her. "I'm an aspiring performer," she said proudly, her hair flipping shoulders.

She was met with two confused stares. "In what, the circus?" Finn piped up, grinning at his own joke. His mom gave him a hard smack on the bicep, causing him to jump back a little. Rachel couldn't help but stare. He was obviously very well-built. "Jeeze," she heard him mumble, rubbing over the pink-colored handprint that lined his arm.

Carole looked back at her with an apologetic smile. "Go on." Rachel cleared her throat. She hoped her next words would be met with only the utmost enthusiasm. "I've starred in several private productions in Theater on the Circle. I'm also their program director this year." She beamed at the accomplishment. Carole feigned enthusiasm, in reality, having no grasp on the significance in this. Finn just rolled his eyes as he continued to stab away at was once a delicious bushel of broccoli.

"Why don't you show her to your room?" Carole asked. He nearly coughed on his veggies. "What?" he asked, wiping away some of the debris left by his mouth. "_Your _room." Carole emphasized. "You two will be sharing. I set up a lovely partition." Rachel - again - beamed. The woman seemed to appreciate talent _and _had a small knack for interior decoration. Her stay would likely be as good as this evening was going. He gave her a hardened stare as he slowly rose from his seat, leaving the plate for her to clean. "Fine," he said, carefully pushing the chair away before stepping out. He began to walk upstairs, already mumbling and grumbling.

"Be a gentleman," his mom urged, signaling to the luggage. He grimaced before reaching down and picking up the bag in one, strong swipe. He slung it over his shoulder and began his journey again.

Rachel couldn't help but stare at his muscles as he made his way up the stairs. And, yes. _All _of his muscles. She bit her lip as he pushed open his door. It was obvious whose side was whose; his was dirty and had a few posters of scantily-clad women.

"I guess you're on the far side." He casually dropped her bag at the edge of the partition. "I take it you've never been hired help." He shot her a glare. She wasn't winning him over. "What's that supposed to mean?" She shrugged her jacket off her shoulders. "Well, you're certainly no gentleman," she said matter-of-factly. He frowned. "And I certainly don't appreciate the last of my valuables being tossed aside like some rag muffin." _Rag muffin?_ he thought. _What the hell is this girl on, anyway?_ He shook his head. Admittedly, he felt a little bad.

"Sorry," he mumbled sheepishly. The next thing she knew, his shirt was off. She stared for a moment before turning her head. He was sweaty and disgusting, and partially covered in bits of grass. But she couldn't get over those arms. He glanced at her. He noticed her embarrassed face before he rolled his eyes. "What?" he asked, almost coyly. He carefully ran a rag along his arms, washing off the dirt and filth. She didn't answer for a moment. That was twice that he caught her staring. She wasn't a good liar, either. "Nothing," she finally offered, though he had little reason to believe it. He grinned to himself.

Without warning, he plopped down on his bed. "I guess you sleep on that side," he said, hinting her to leave him alone. "Like…behind that Parliament." She giggled. "What?" he asked again, looking up at her with staunch confusion. "You're weird," he added. His gaze returned to the ceiling.

"It's _partition_," she corrected gently.

He shrugged. "Who gives a shit?"

She frowned a little. "I do," she said, continuing to stand there. He rolled and turned his back to her. "You don't have a lot of friends, do you?" he asked boldly. "Little Ms. Popular, come here in my house and give me weird looks, telling me about Parliament." He yawned. "You need a hobby."

She figured all of this rudeness was some form of jealousy. Or, maybe he was always that way?

"Where do you go to school?" she asked, trying to be polite. He took a moment to answer. "I don't," he finally said. "Dropped out."

She rubbed her arm before taking a seat on a football-shaped chair. "Do you like sports?" He sighed loudly.

Soon, he was meeting her gaze again. "What're you doing?" he asked. His tone somewhat changed; he wasn't as harsh as he was before.

"I'm sitting in your chair," she said with a coy smile.

"No, I mean…with all the questions and junk. What do you want?"

"To know if you like sports."

He stared for a moment. "I don't," he said, knowing that she probably knew better. He just hated talking about himself.

"Then why do you have a football-shaped chair?"

"To sit in," he answered, seeing her game.

"But why a football? You could just as easily go out an buy a unicorn-shaped chair, or even a chair-shaped chair."

"A unicorn?" he asked, this being the only thing that caught his attention. "Why the hell would I buy a unicorn-shaped chair?"

"Well, why would you buy a football-shaped chair?" She smirked.

"Because I like football!" he shot back, visibly frustrated. He paused. Dammit. She won this round.

"What do you want?" he asked, seeming exhausted at this.

She got up without a word, beginning to look around his side of the room. "I've been in your house an hour and I've yet to see a single picture of your family," she said. She sat down on the bed next to him, able to feel his body heat radiating.

"You met my family. She's all I have." He looked at her seriously, meeting a saddened gaze.

"That's it? No aunts or uncles? What about your father?"

He frowned before he turned back over. "Enough," he said, shifting back into his pissed-off mood. She sat there a moment, somewhat surprised he hadn't asked her to move to her own side again. Maybe he was catching on. "Finn?" she asked again. "Where's the bathroom? I need to relieve myself."

Finally, a chuckle. "To what?" he asked. His head turned slightly. She could feel a small blush rise in her cheeks. "What?" she asked, the tables turning on the banter. "I need to…relieve myself." Her brows furrowed as she heard him laugh a little more. " 'S over there," he said, pointing to a door. She carefully got up, his eyes following her the whole way.

Moments later, she emerged. She took her place again. "I stole a car," he said, causing her head to snap up a bit. "You what?"

"I stole a car. A red one."

She frowned. "And why would you do that?"

He felt his jaw clench a little bit before he turned over to face her. He still hadn't put a shirt on. "Why's that important?" he wondered aloud. "I stole a car and crashed it into a building." He looked away, obviously not proud of this. "No one got hurt," he added to make her feel better. He looked back up at her. "What did you do?" he asked, aware of how her program worked. "You know…little Miss future Harvard."

She leaned over him a bit, checking him out, though she wasn't making it obvious.

She sighed. "I tricked someone into a cellar." She paused after she realized how silly it sounded. "Because I deserved that opening timeslot."

She met a confused stare. Something happened then; he couldn't really explain it. Carefully, he leaned up and their noses brushed. She sat, frozen with fear. She'd never been this close to someone who'd likely been on _Cops_ before.

He leaned in and closed the gap.

Actually, she'd never kissed _anyone_ before.


	3. Chapter 3

It had been an awkward night to say the least, even more so because they slept in the same room, separated only by a thin wall and a cleverly-decorated sheet. It had a large pee stain on it. She assumed it was probably Finn's from when he was little. She stared at it the whole night; it practically made a face at her.

"_I'm not sure I can do this,"_ she said. It replayed in his head a bunch of times after she pushed him away. They only kissed for a microsecond. There was immediate regret in it for him. He felt like an inchworm. He felt crazy. No girl like her would ever be interested in someone like him. He wasn't trying to make it to home plate with her, either. He'd been there plenty of times, though, all with different girls. Never the same girl twice. He usually became too attached and they would run off.

He was pretty bad when it came to girls, for the most part. Being raised only by his mother for much of his life, he was usually a little more affectionate than most guys. Sure, he was rough-around-the-edges, but he had a big heart. She didn't even bother asking him about any of that, though. She just pushed him away and moved to her own side.

He sat for a while, mulling over the last two minutes. He thought - maybe - she was flirting with him or something. Then, he just felt stupid.

Neither of them knew that the other lay on the other side, staring at the wall between them.

Dawn came soon. Finn shook his head to the sound of the pipes from the shower running; they were connected to his wall. He squinted as he looked at his clock. Six-thirty. He grunted a little. After all, it was summer, and no normal person that he knew made it a point to be up that early. He sat up, covered in a thin layer of sweat. He lacked air conditioning, at least in his room. He usually slept with the window open, but she said it made it easier for burglars and dander to find her. Whatever the hell that meant.

It was then he heard the most angelic sound he'd ever heard in his life. He carefully rose from his bed, making his way to his bathroom. Steam plumed from under the door, though she left it cracked.

Trying to go unnoticed, he opened the door and peeked his head in. He didn't feel guilty or anything; in fact, he didn't think twice about it. He was more interested in hearing her sing. He stepped inside a little more, just listening. He could see a silhouette of her through the curtain.

"Rachel?"

She continued singing, not hearing him just a few feet away. He cleared his throat.

"Rachel?" he said, a bit louder this time.

Before he knew it, he had a bottle of Dove whizzing at his face. Spot on. She could have tried out for the Cleveland Indians if she wanted. "Ow! What the hell was that for?" he asked, as if it surprised him she was startled by his presence.

"What are you doing in here?!" she screeched, doing her best to cover herself with the curtain, though he'd seen plenty in her fury.

He shook his head a little, trying to recover from his injuries. "I heard you singing," he said, holding his eye. "Excuse the hell out of me." He held his eye, a few drops of blood dripping down his cheek.

She sighed lowly and carefully got out, making sure she was plenty covered. "I'm sorry," she said, keeping her distance. "I didn't mean to harm you." She took a small step forward. "Let me see that." He winced as her thumb brushed over the small scratch in his eyebrow.

"You really nailed me," he said with a small laugh. "You ever play softball?"

She looked at him incredulously. "My schedule never called for that," she said flatly, uninterested in sport of any kind. Especially one that required so much artificial dirt. He frowned a little. "You should have," he mumbled, just trying to make small talk.

Her eyes couldn't help but wander, seeing he still hadn't dressed. On top of that, he was sweaty. "You never showered yesterday," she noted, her nose crinkling at the realization.

He shrugged. "Yeah, so?"

"Well…look at you," she said, trying to play her checking him out as being overly-concerned about his hygiene. "You're all sweaty. I bet you'd feel much better after a shower."

He shrugged once more. "Just gonna get dirty again anyway," he shot back, watching her the whole time.

There was a tension in the air that neither of them could particularly deny, though, if you asked her, she would.

"Why'd you push me away?" he asked, unable to not stare at her.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She shifted on her heels.

He frowned. That stung a little. "Yeah you do," he said. "I made a move and you pushed me away. But you were practically ripping my clothes off five minutes before."

She began to get a little uncomfortable; this was never her strong suit. He could sense this, too. "I assure you, I was _not _undressing your perfectly defined abdomen with my eyes," she said, her eyes widening to an unhealthy degree before they met the floor. It was particularly fascinating today.

He rolled his eyes. "You use a lot of big words," he said, step-by-step backing her into the wall. "I think that's a cover for something."

She swallowed thickly, never noticing how close her relationship with the wall was until she was there. "A cover?" she asked, feigning naiveté. "A cover for what?"

He was bent down a little more now, though not close enough to kiss her. (At least not yet.) "I don't know," he answered honestly. He was never good at solving the whole puzzle; he hadn't quite had her pegged that well yet. "But it's kind of hot."

Her brows furrowed. First, he was detesting her presence. Now, he was calling her hot?

There noses were starting to brush. It took everything in her not to stare at his lips, or that charming little half-smile he was wearing. "I…assure you, Finn that I'm not hiding…" She paused on her words. "Whatever you're suggesting that I'm hiding."

He grinned. "Then kiss me."

She could feel her face burning, her fingers still wrapped securely around the hem of her towel. "I don't know if I can do that."

He frowned; he was so close that she could practically smell the grass on him from the day before. "Why not?"

She bit her lip and turned her head, not wanting to be tempted further into kissing him. She decided not to answer, not wanting to hurt his feelings.

He began to catch on himself, though. Slowly, he stood up. "Sorry to bother you," he said simply, leaving her standing there in her towel. Quietly, he closed the door. This was _definitely_ going to be a long summer.

—

The band Rancid Puke blared from his stereo; he was more and more into hard rock with each passing day. He also loved house parties. Why not combine the two?

His mom had to go out of town for an "emergency meeting". They were left alone; it was nitrous.

They'd been getting along decently, though there was an obvious tension between them. If you asked either of them, their answer would be the same. They - for all intents and purposes - were in no way attracted to each other.

There were plenty of girls at his party, though he could only keep his eyes on her. She stayed curled up on the couch, attempting to dictate the volume of the stereo from there. It wasn't really working.

"HEY, DO YOU WANT TO GO TO OUR ROOM?" he asked over the stereo. No one else seemed to notice them talking, but she gleefully accepted.

She followed him up the stairs, much like that first day they met. It was strange how they found it easier to be alone with a house full of people.

She sat on his bed, dressed in a black skirt and tank top. He was wearing clothes this time; a polo and cargo shorts. He sat down beside her, giving her a beer. "Loosen up," he instructed. She didn't argue this time. In fact, she welcomed it.

She cracked open the bottle and took a swig. Her face crumpled. He laughed. "I should've warned you," he said, drinking a small drink of his beer. He wiped away the remaining contents with his forearm, his dimples returning.

She stared at him for a moment, though he likely didn't notice. His gaze was on the floor.

"Because I'm from East Lima," she blurted out randomly.

His brows furrowed. He scratched his ear. "Yeah, I know that," he confirmed, looking up at her. "What about it? Your daddies make a lot of money." He shrugged, feigning indifference.

"I mean," she said, putting her hand on his thigh. "I mean that's why I pushed you away." He frowned a little.

"So you wouldn't kiss me 'cause I'm from the opposite side of town?"

She looked down. She wasn't proud of it or anything. "I would kiss you now," she clarified. It was almost a hint, and, for the most part, she didn't even realize what she said to him.

He looked at her for a moment before he lifted her chin up. Their gazes met. Slowly, he leaned in a little. He wasn't drunk; it took at least six beers for that. She, on the other hand…

Again, their lips met. He was more of a gentle kisser, surprisingly. She was a little new to the whole game. Naturally, she approached it with tenacity.

She also had great upper-body strength. So much so, that she could push him down without a second thought. He felt his eyes widen as he hit the mattress, his large arms flying up to either side of him.

She lay on top of him, easily able to straddle him.

"What are we doing?" he asked. It seemed like a natural question after being forced down on his bed. It was usually the other way around - and not in a dangerous sort of way. He usually took control during these situations.

Carefully, she began to pull his shirt off. "I've felt…_hiccup_…guilty since the moment…_hiccup…_I didn't do this the first time," she explained. He frowned a little.

"I think you've probably had a little too much to…"

She carefully put her finger over his mouth, not allowing him to protest. "You're a…_hiccup…_ man, and you have…._hiccup…_needs." He only blinked back at her. He wasn't sure how paying his taxes fit in this situation.

He sighed and laid idly as she continued to attempt to undress him. "Do you want a little help?" he finally asked, feeling guilty for making her do all the work. She shook her head.

Finally, his chiseled figure was free of the dastardly cloth. Or at least, his top-half. She drunkenly ran her hand down his chest. It was surprisingly smooth, certainly not like the Bounty man, which she had come to expect. But she wasn't complaining. She leaned down near his ear. "You're cute," she said with a giggle. He couldn't help but smile, even if she _was _plastered.

He leaned up a bit and carefully turned on his side, tucking her hair back. "Wait." She frowned at him. Was it her breath? It had to be, she thought. She had quite a bit to drink. She began breathing into her palms.

"Breath mints, I have breath mints." She began rifling through her purse, continuing to hiccup.

He shook his head a little and gently grabbed her hand, stopping her. "It's not your breath," he said, seeming somewhat confused. "I…" He looked down at her, unsure of how to phrase the question. "Have you ever…you know?"

She stared back at him, just as confused. "Have I what?"

He rubbed his neck. "You know…_been with anyone?_"

She frowned, having the inclination to slap him across the face. "I've been with loads of guys. S-so many guys…" Her voice began to slur. "That…_hiccup_…Paris Hilton herself would be jealous."

His face wrinkled cutely. "Is that the hippo at the zoo?" he asked, causing her to bust out into laughter. He frowned at her reaction.

"Maybe we shouldn't do this," she said, sitting up. "You've clearly not been cultured."

He sat up with her, settling into a dissatisfied posture. "You don't have to make fun of me," he said quietly, his face red. It was hidden by the moonlight, though.

"I'm not making fun of you, you're just not…not…" She paused and hiccupped again. "You're a bad boy. And if you don't know who Paris Hilton is, then I don't think we'd work out."

His head bowed a little, the words leaking out of his mouth like turpentine. They were flammable, certainly, and would probably have serious repercussions once out, but he found himself unable to care. "If she's not as pretty as you, then I don't care."

She stopped, her smile slowly fading. He realized his error as soon as he said it, and even if she was drunk, those words would ring in her ears for a very long time. My god. He really did like her.

"You…you think I'm pretty?" It's almost as if the confession caused her to sober up a bit. At least her hiccups were gone.

He made a pained face before shooting up from his spot. "It's dumb," he muttered, going to his door. "And this party is over." The mood turned sour quick.

Within a surprising amount of time, he had his friends gone. Most of them were too drunk to really care. They could always go drink elsewhere.

He came back up and slammed the door. "You should take a shower," he said flatly. "That guy spilled gin in your hair and it'll get sticky." He kicked off his jeans, revealing a long pair of boxers underneath. She stared for a moment, though it didn't register what she was looking at until he was under his covers. She simply nodded and got up, wobbling a bit to the shower.

He watched her the whole way, ready to help in case she stumbled too hard and tripped. He felt a little guilty for her current state. She cracked the door and undressed herself, sliding in.

Soon, steam began pouring from the room. It felt nice, even if it was still warm out. He lay in bed, watching the vapor fill his room, coating his skin in its warmth. He ghosted his fingers along his abdomen. She didn't seem to be repulsed when he admitted he thought she was pretty. And he sort of watered it down; "pretty" was generic. He thought she was gorgeous. A bit high-maintenance and terribly confusing, yes, but gorgeous nonetheless.

He carefully crawled out of bed and walked to the door. She was singing again, though it was more quiet this time. He didn't mind it, though. She had a marvelous voice. He could see why she spent so much time practicing and pushing people into trap doors.

He slowly stepped through. "Rachel?" he asked, his voice being overpowered by hers, even if it was on a low level. She continued to sing away, her silhouette becoming more and more an actual person the further he stepped inside. He swallowed thickly, finally reaching the curtain.

"Rachel?" he said again, loud enough for her to hear this time. She grabbed a bottle of shampoo. "I'm armed!" she warned, not yet to the point of having any sort of way to utilize the shampoo as a weapon. He chuckled a little. "It's Finn."

There was a small sigh of relief from her. "What are you doing in here?" she asked, seeming somewhat nervous. He'd been pretty upset a few moments before. "I…um…just wanted you to know I meant what I said. But I meant it a little more than what I said."

There was a long pause, filled in only by the sound of the water. "What?"

"I-I think you're pretty," he clarified. "But I think you're more than that."

The shower curtain pulled back and he meta curious stare, her curls lining her face. "Go on."

He cowered a little. "Well, I think you're beautiful." He knew by all the movies his mom made him watch with her that girls loved that, though he genuinely meant it. "And I'm not just blowing steam." He looked around for a moment, trying to keep his eyes off of her.

She looked down again, and, without warning, pulled him into the shower. His eyes widened a little as he came face-to-face with her unclothed body. He turned away a bit, covering himself. It was never hard to get him going. "W-what're you doing?" he mumbled, now soaked through his clothes. There was not much point in hiding anymore.

Instead of answering, she turned his head back to her, pulling him down for a kiss. It wasn't ferocious this time, and he didn't feel the need to pry them apart with the jaws of life. It was soft, and sweet. His favorite kind.

She wasn't really drunk at this point. The guilt mostly washed that away. That, and the steaming hot water she'd secretly been drinking since she got into the shower. She knew exactly what she was, and what she was doing.

He carefully pushed her against the wall, the cold tile quickly being replaced by his hand. She shivered at the replacement. He was proving to be surprisingly gentle. Her hands ghosted down his sides, his boxers becoming a thing of the past.

Using some of her ballet techniques, she masterfully kicked them over the top of the curtain. He hardly noticed, his lips traveling to her neck, leaving a trail there.

He wasn't as grabby as others boys might have been, either. His hands stayed glued to her hips, hers taking a moment to roam.

They traveled along his abdomen until he jolted, her very touch causing him to stiffen. Both could feel his face turning red, a typical reaction to this kind of attention.

He tried for a moment to pull away. Her hand latched to the back of his neck, pulling him back down. A simple nod was all he needed to keep going.

He hoisted her back up against the wall, her legs wrapping around his hips.

She licked her lips, looking down at him. It was impressive, though she hadn't anything to compare it to. He looked up at her, silently asking for permission again. And she gave it to him.

He took a moment to look over her. For whatever reason, he neglected that privilege when he got into the shower. She was as gorgeous as he thought she would be. He wasn't too crazy about admitting that he thought she'd be gorgeous naked, though. It seemed weird.

He ran his hands over her, gently squeezing her breasts, eliciting a small moan from her. They weren't the biggest apples in the bunch, but they were perfectly fit for her. Girls with large breasts - to him at least - were usually just as fake.

He did this again, it getting him going more. He watched his hands work their magic, a series of small moans erupting from the young engine view, or whatever she'd been calling herself recently.

"God," he heard, though he couldn't have been sure who it was coming from. Slowly, he moved himself forward, pushing himself between her legs.

If someone would have told her the first experience would have been the worst, she might have prepped a bit better.

But there was a strange pleasure to it.

She groaned, her hands locking in his hair. He was taken mute for a moment, and the thought crossed him to stop. He pulled away, their bodies still connected. "Are you…um…" He cleared his throat, searching for the right words. "Do I need to stop?"

She shook her head in protest, getting an angry look. Why in the world would she stop? He pondered the same thing before continuing, his movements slow and calculated. The water made it a bit better for the both of them, though he was arguably in better shape than she was.

With each passing moment, he drove his hips further into her, causing her moans to deepen. Each thrust, she could feel herself burning with a deeper desire. The pain had subsided, leaving only room for pleasure.

Each new movement elicited new noises from the both of them, be it a grunt or a moan. He liked either, though that aspect wasn't as controlled as he hoped it'd be.

As soon as he felt the finish line approaching…he heard a buzz. It was distinct, though it didn't seem to bother her.

He slowed down for a moment, though she didn't notice. In face, he was a bit hazy throughout his whole performance. She didn't notice that either.

He felt himself squint, unusually blinded all of the sudden. The buzzing continued. He didn't even have the capacity to finish the job.

Then it hit him…his alarm clock - which he got for Christmas as a gag - squirted him with water.


	4. Chapter 4

He slowly chewed his food, sitting at the breakfast table. She'd decorated it for…well, Tuesday, apparently. It had dainty little flowers all over it. She was quite proud of the design, though his focus was elsewhere.

He watched her as she had her back turned to him, still in her nightclothes. She _would _choose a pair of short-shorts and tank-top after his insanely hot wet dream. (No pun intended.) He couldn't stop staring; even if he tried, the image of her in that shower would still be etched in his mind. Even if it _was _only a dream, it was definitely the hottest thing he'd seen in a while.

He sat with his hips squarely under the table. Even the cold shower didn't quite do the trick. It just kept coming back.

"I'm going to do our laundry," she announced.

His eyes widened. "You can't do that!" He hadn't meant to yell, of course, and it caught even her off guard.

She frowned. "Why not?" She turned to him, her hair framing her face perfectly. "I'm your guest here, and I think I caused enough trouble last night." She poured her milk, having no idea how true those words were.

But he couldn't let her see those sheets. He was, after all, a teenage boy, but it was still embarrassing. "B-because." He paused. "I burned them."

She stood, a bit stunned. "Why in the world would you do that?" She sat near him, their legs touching.

He jumped back, her face falling even more. "Because my mom wouldn't buy me new ones. So I guess she'll have to now, won't she?" He stormed up, keeping his back slightly turned from her. She picked at her cereal, too naïve to really understand what was happening.

She sighed a little as he stayed hovered over near the fridge, making sure she couldn't see his front lower-half. "Is this about last night?" she asked, eyes focused on her cereal. "Because I realize that was a bit insensitive of me."

He turned only his head, as if allowing her to finish. "I-I do this thing where I talk before I speak," she went on to explain. "And, I was a little inebriated…" She trailed off for a moment. "The point is, that's not really what I think of you."

He turned his head back, his jaw clenched gently. "Yeah?"

She quietly cleared her throat and slid out of her seat, walking up behind him. Slowly, she slid her hands along the muscles of his back, making an attempt at being sexy. "Y-yeah," she tried to imitate, though she was obviously nervous. "I think you're handsome. And kind." She continued the gesture, a bit too short for direct eye contact at the angle she was standing.

"Handsome?" he pondered aloud. He'd never been called that before. Especially not sober. "You think I'm handsome?" He smiled, his dimples making their presence known again.

Instead of answering, she began placing intimate little kisses on his back. By this time, he'd put on a white t-shirt, though he couldn't tell at this point. Each kiss was like fire on his skin.

"What're you doing?" he asked, his voice hinting of cracking.

She continued her journey up his back, landing right between his shoulders. "I remember last night perfectly," she finally answered. "And I want to thank you…" She hesitated. "For helping me not do something I might have regretted later."

He felt his face wrinkle in thought, not really having any sort of idea as to what this could be. She turned him around, as if knowing what he was going to ask.

"You wouldn't sleep with me when I was drunk," she explained. "And I no that not many other guys would do that." She gently patted his chest, not even noticing his problem down south.

"It's really no big deal," he began, right before she kissed him. He felt his brows raise again, his hands hovering near her, though not on her.

She stood up on her tiptoes, giving it a bit more definition, but not ferocity, as she had approached the first time. (Thank god.) If she was anything like his dream, she was probably a really good kisser. And she was proving him right so far.

After a moment, his primal side took over. He was a boy, and she _was_ kissing him, so he figured it would be stupid not to take advantage of the situation. He rested his shaking hands right on her butt, giving it a soft squeeze.

She jumped a bit. He had really nice hands - and much like his own dream - he was very gentle. Granted, she would have maced anyone else who tried it, but it worked for him. She moved forward into him more, his problem now more obvious to her. But she didn't care. In fact, she sort of looked forward to it.

Sliding her hands down his stomach, she found the hem of his shirt and quickly removed it. His eyes widened a little at the sudden coolness that found his skin.

She carefully ran her hand down his stomach, leaning up and biting his lip, pulling him back until her butt hit the wall. He followed her, stumbling a bit behind her. The last thing he wanted to do was crush her to death.

As she made contact with the wall, he pulled her shirt off, leaving her in just her bra. They swung around, knocking magnets off the refrigerator, the cat meowing distressfully. She paused for a moment, pulling away and latching her legs around his hips. She could feel his excitement through her shorts.

He swung her back around into the other wall, knocking some more pictures over. His mom was probably going to be pretty angry, but he didn't really stop to think about it. (He did, however, stop to pick up her vase they'd knocked over.)

"The couch," she mumbled against his lips as they met hers again. He shook his head, his strong arms cradling over to the counter. Her eyes widened a little. People had to eat off that, right? Or at least make their food on it. At this point, he didn't care if it was on the moon, in the shower, or on the golf course.

He reached around her back, unhitching her bra for her. He seemed to be an expert at it, having it off in only a few seconds time. She carefully ran her hands along his muscles, her heels pushing off his shorts.

He sprung to life, a nervous laugh blowing past her lips. "Oh, wow, that's…" She blushed hotly, his lips already on her neck. She couldn't concentrate; no one had ever really had this effect on her before.

She wasn't as confident in her movements, though it wasn't obvious. He was hovering near her ear now, and she was finding it to be one of her sweet spots. She'd have to keep that in mind.

She reached down, slowly beginning to stroke him. A loud moan erupted from him, causing her to stop.

"A-am I hurting you?" His brows furrowed. "N-no, keep going," he mumbled, guiding her hand back down south. He moaned again, though a bit quieter, seeing it scared her the first time.

Slowly, his hands traveled to her breasts again, giving them a gentle squeeze. They were as nice as he dreamed about.

She squeaked a little, her free hand lightly digging into his back, leaving a small trail behind it. He was at full mass now, her hand and their other activities being a bit too much for him to handle.

He carefully pushed down her shorts, revealing her lack of underwear. His eyes widened at the sight of this. She seemed so proper.

Within a matter of seconds, he'd worked himself between her thighs, teasing her with his excitement. Her eyes brimmed with tears at the initial pain; it made him feel bad enough to pull her off the counter and hold her in his arms.

He stopped, walking her up to his bed and laying her down on top of it. Her eyes followed him, curious and a bit watery.

"What are you doing?" she asked with a sniffle, too far in the process to stop at this point.

He laid down beside her, tenting them with his blanket. "Making it a little better for you." His brows pulled down in confusion. "That's okay, right?"

She looked back up at him, her thumb softly stroking his cheek before she kissed him again.

He reciprocated, moving back into position, her legs wrapping around his waist. The mood softened, but the passion was still there. He deepened the kiss, deciding to keep it intimate as he went for it again.

She inhaled a sharp breath, her heels digging into the sheets. He went as slow as he could for a few seconds, her breath shaky, but slowly returning to a more stable state. He looked down at her, their noses brushing the whole time.

She finally nodded, giving him the permission he needed to continue. He began to drive his hips slowly, venturing a bit deeper each time. The bed softly creaked beneath them, their eyes exploring each other, even under the darkness of the covers.

Her hands slowly slid down his chest, thumbs brushing over each freckle, as if counting it and saving it for a later time. If he had the capacity to smile, he would have.

He leaned down and began places intimate kisses along her skin, wherever his lips landed. She ran her hand through his hair, causing it to stand straight up. His hips continued to drive farther and farther inward, the sensation becoming too much for both of them minutes later.

She felt her body start to shake a little, his arm winding around her to hold her closer to him; his body was doing the same. It only took a few seconds for both of them to succumb to each other.

He stayed where he was for a minute, a thin layer of sweat coating him. "A-are you…"

She stayed silent beneath him, her breathing still a little uneven.

"Rach?" he asked, backing away.

She frowned up at him, the gravity of the situation slowly settling in.

—

It never took long for her to realize when she regretted something. (Except the trap door thing. She still stood by that.) He lay beside her, comfortingly running his hand through her hair.

"You were amazing, if it helps," he said, letting his guard down.

"Of course it doesn't help. Don't be foolish." By this point, she was well-covered, most of the blanket on her. Not that she minded the view.

He frowned in return. "Well why not?"

She looked up at him, her eyes pleading with him not to have to answer that.

"Please just tell me."

"Because it was heat-of-the-moment, Finn," she said, looking away.

He frowned a little. "So…it didn't…" He hesitated. "It didn't mean anything?"

She sighed dramatically. "Of course it meant something. It's something I can never give to anyone else," she spat, her eyes darkening with regret. "But I'm sure you have plenty of those cases. Taking girls' hearts with you, collecting your stories for your little friends." She spun around in bed, sitting up.

He stared in disbelief, his eyes locked on her back. "Well you didn't mind when we were going at it," he mumbled.

She turned to glare at him, still covered by the blanket. "Going at it?"

He returned the glare, sitting up on his elbow. "Yeah. If I seem to recall, _you're_ the one who kissed _me._"

"You could have stopped me!"

"Well maybe I didn't want to!" he barked, hushing immediately after. She stared in shock. He cowered a little. "Maybe I…maybe I was kind of hoping that you were starting to think differently of me." He swallowed nervously.

Oh, god. This conversation again. "I already explained it to you," she said, choosing one of his shirts to wear. She slid it over her head before turning around, covering him. "We're from different worlds."

All he could look at was her shirt…well, his shirt. "That looks good on you."

"Don't," she said, hand on his arm. "This is hard enough."

He sighed. "It doesn't have to be, you know. It's not rocket science."

"I came here to serve time, not sleep with the town badboy."

"You don't even know me."

His words rang in her ears for a moment. That much was true; she'd gone as far as sleeping with him, but they hadn't really talked much about him. After her first night, she'd never made another effort. "Fine," she said, sitting Indian-style. She'd still neglected underwear, giving him quite a generous view.

Of course, his gaze was there. She brought his head up to look at her. "What did you _really_ do to get stuck with me?"

He shifted a little. "I don't know if we should talk about this," he finally said.

"You just slept with me. I think you owe it to me." Her brow raised.

"OK. Fine." He sat up, his muscular frame being covered by the sheets. She was a tad disappointed in that decision. "But…you have to promise not to judge me, or whatever."

She nodded a little. Maybe she didn't want to know.

He opened his mouth to talk, playing with the ends of the blankets; the little string coming loose and his mom walking through the front door were his only saving grace.


End file.
